If You Don't Wan't Me Chosen, Don't Choose Me!
by abrainiac
Summary: Well, if Harry has one only semi-horrible gift from his Aunt and Uncle - a journal - he might as well use it when things go down the toilet, and not in the COS way. Poetry, angst, RAGING, and cussing  in the Author's Note :3


(A/N): Never posted a HP fic on this account, did I? Well, first time for everything! Some angst, some shitty poetry, and some of Harry in a RAGE! THIS IS THE MADDEST HE'S EVER BEEN! Ahaha, same warning goes out as last time. If you have actually talked to all of my sexiness, I'm not writing it to you. You're open to read, just don't get pissed at me for it this time! *Lesser-Than Three*

Anywhore, this is set in the 4th Year, after the Goblet spit out Harry's name, and Ron is being a total arse!

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><p>Stupid Journal Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon Got Me,<p>

I don't know what to do. The Goblet 'chose' me. Why am I always the Chosen One? I don't want to be chosen, and I ought not to be if that's so. But does anyone actually care what I want or what I even feel? No. They only care what I do. They care if I'm good in school, if I save the Wizarding World, or if I live up to my amazing parents. And, even if I do all of that, I've only done what's expected.

Really, if I want to even slightly impress these people, I'm assuming that I'll have to learn to juggle (toss colorful balls {stop laughing, you twat} in the air and catch them), rap (fast talk to a beat like a dumb American), complete a Rubik's Cube (a pointless show of over intelligence. Ask Hermione for more details), and ride a sea lion… at the same time! And then, Ron will only be more bloody pissed off at me. Honestly, he thinks I _want_ to die? Does he take me for a fool?

Honestly, I wish it could all just be simple. Easy. But where would the fun in that be? Because whoever is making the decisions in my life (who certainly isn't me) had better be having a laugh, because I certainly am not.

So, though I don't want to be a total wuss, I'm thinking that I might want to try some poetry. Sure, I know what you're thinking. And you're completely right; I suck at poetry. But why not give it a try? I'm not trying to impress anyone here. I'm trying to express myself, so you can stop judging me, you bloody journal!

Dear Rowling, I've gone insane. Well, here goes it!

I call this one:

"Ron, Mate, You Can Shove it Up Your Arse, or You Can Read My Crappy Poetry. This One's For You, Prick"

_Let me feel_

_And let it show._

_Let's be real_

_Or let's let go._

_~#~_

_Because you're mad_

_It doesn't mean_

_I can't be sad_

_Or can't be seen._

_~#~_

_I still feel_

_And it still hurts._

_Your soul like steel_

_Hurts worse than words._

_~#~_

_See my heartbreak,_

_See my pain?_

_It's not fake;_

_Please, don't be vain._

_~#~_

_Feed my anger_

_Or be my friend_

_We're in danger_

_Friendships end._

_~#~_

_I loved you_

_And you loved me. (No homo, mate)_

_Now that's not true?_

_Then set me free._

~#~

_I'm alone_

_And you are not_

_My feelings shone_

_And yet we fought_

_~#~_

_Please be careful;_

_Don't you know,_

_I'm oh so fearful._

_Don't let go._

Well, Ron, if you ever read that, I apologize for how hellishly terrible that was. Now time to go all 'horrible motivational speaker' on you, journal.

This one's for you, you crazy wanker! (Why yes, I'm talking to myself. And yes, we do get in several fights every day… no we don't! Shut up, you! Ah, you twat!) I call it:

"Well, Now I'm Writing Poetry To Myself. That's Just Awkard, Mate. Ah, Have At It"

_It's true, you know,_

_The things they say_

_When you're in pain_

_You drift away._

_~#~_

_You float so high,_

_And yet you fall._

_And at that time,_

_You hear fate's call._

_~#~_

_Feel your sorrow,_

_Search for joy._

_Fail your search,_

_The devil's ploy._

_~#~_

_Let your heartbreak_

_Flow straight through_

_Through your fingers_

_Right on through you._

_~#~_

_Words on paper,_

_Never right._

_They're bland and sad,_

_Don't show your fright._

_~#~_

_Fright of ends,_

_Of days to come,_

_Of confrontations,_

_Being numb._

_~#~_

_You try to fix it,_

_To make things good,_

_To cure the bad_

_The way you should._

_~#~_

_You know you've hurt,_

_Done something mean._

_You've been a jerk,_

_You've been a fiend._

_~#~_

_You're not the victim,_

_But not to blame,_

_You're just yourself_

_And there's the shame._

_~#~_

_You've done it wrong,_

_You want it right,_

_You'll try so hard_

_With all your might._

_~#~_

_It might not work,_

_The world might end._

_You still must try_

_You must not bend._

_~#~_

_You must stand strong_

_And cure the bad._

_To heal what's hurt_

_And help the sad._

_~#~_

_You must keep trying;_

_Never cease._

_Make things right,_

_And find your peace._

_~#~_

_Do your best,_

_And love your friends_

_Just don't give up_

_Not 'til the end._

Well, that was bloody horrific. There goes the last of my sanity (which barely existed in the first place). I'd better sign off before I end up cuddling with this poofter book as I sleep.

Your Chosen One,

HP

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><p>(AN): Am I as horrible at poetry as I kinda think I am? Not fishing for compliments, just not sure if I like it. I actually quite think I do, but on the other hand... eh, whatevs! Hope you liked it! And, if you did, follow me, favorite me, chuck some reviews in my general direction! Love ya ALL! =D

*Lesser-Than Three*


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